What the Years Can Never Change
by Zeff N Company
Summary: That girl – that free-spirited little girl – would never be satisfied with just running; she wanted to fly, as high and proud as a mighty eagle. He could not protect her forever, but he could take pride in knowing he taught her to protect herself.


_Expanded from _WRG - Introduction_ (submitted in dA for the 100 themes challenge), this was mostly inspired by _My Little Girl_ Tim McGraw sang for the motion picture _Flicka_._

_And just to clear things up, there are no actual pairings going on here (if you interpret otherwise, though...whatever makes you happy, I guess).  
_

* * *

She seemed the smallest, most fragile thing he had ever seen. Lying there on her back, she stared up at him with wide brown eyes, her already messy tuft of black hair being mussed further by a tiny, ever-curious hand. As he stared back, silently studying her with curiosity, she kicked at the air, feet moving an imaginary bicycle along steadily.

Not even Cloud had been this small, when they first met those years ago, and as the young brunet continued to observe the infant with unguarded interest, he was almost wary of causing this little babe and her immediate environment any disturbance. There was something so very special about this moment, where he stared quietly at her, and she stared quietly back. He worried that even the slightest wobble of the bed frame would cause the moment to shatter away; that nothing would bring it back.

Her hand had left her now thoroughly mussed hair to enter her mouth, and she sucked at it carelessly as their mutual staring continued. Neither noticed the nursery room's door open behind them; neither so much as flinched when the infant's caregiver joined them with a tray in hand. It was only when ceramic clinked that the spell was broken, and the boy looked up at the woman beside him. Shera only smiled reassuringly, and offered him one of the sandwiches she had brought in.

"She's beautiful, isn't she?"

The boy nodded in answer, eyes up for the briefest of moments before resuming their previous task. In the protective hold, the little one's eyes flicked between the two as she latched onto her feeding bottle, sucking persistently for every last drop of formula. As the boy nibbled on his snack, he was still watching as the kindly figure fed the baby in her arms, as she held steady the bottle for the eager infant's administration.

And she noticed, even as she went through the necessary feeding, then post-feeding rituals. When at last both were deemed "finished" with their individual meals, she looked to the youngster once more, his fingers playing with the edge of a napkin.

"Would you like to hold her?"

The napkin was dropped in an instant, and the boy looked up at her with his mouth fallen open. Words failed him, even as he struggled to regain his voice for a proper and polite protest. She never gave him that chance as the surprisingly heavy infant was placed solidly in his smaller arms, occasionally instructing him how exactly to best hold her.

Finally, he was seated cross-legged on the floor tiles, still holding onto the babe awkwardly, yet securely. Even as he seemed terrified of the situation, those same huge eyes were regarding him with a new air of wonder. The infant moved her hand now – the same hand she had stuck in her mouth earlier – and she placed it boldly on his face. He froze, allowing her fingers to roam about his features clumsily.

Then, satisfied, the tiny child let out a soft giggle and proceeded to seize one of his bangs. She was tugging at it like a new toy, and that was when he forgot what he was so afraid of.

And standing before them, Shera watched all that had played out, her smile never leaving her face. Coming to kneel beside them, she patted the boy on the head as she spoke: "You take care of Yuffie, okay? I'll be right back."

And then she was gone, and they were alone again. Her hand yanking at the same fistful of hair over and over, he finally managed a small smile for the innocent little child who knew no better.

"Hi, Yuffie," he whispered, as though sharing with her a secret – a special secret just for the two of them. "I'm Squall."

When she gurgled at him, making happy baby noises while never leaving go of his hair, he knew that she had heard him.

* * *

Children were always so much easier to manage before they learned to run; if Squall had a say in it, the little brat would be strictly schooled to sit still for the rest of her life.

At five years of age, she was _everywhere_, sticking her inquisitive little nose into _everything_ – she was constantly underfoot at the most inconvenient times, wanting to be part of any activity regardless of how many fingers could be lost in the process, and that was when she chose to remain within sight. Those times she decided it was more fun to play hide and seek with him, he could only live in fear of what mischief she would get into that he could not stop in time.

One would have advised him to just lock her in a room with him for a few hours, and channel that abundant energy into something productive toward her intellect. He would have listened to it, if he had not already tried it.

He had tried just that once…and then never again.

"Yuffie," he called for the hundredth time, without so much as moving from his comfortable seat in a corner. "We're not going anywhere, so get back here."

Frowning up at the locked doorknob, the child grabbed it once more and tugged furiously. Lacking the know-how to get it unlocked, she relied on brute force to do the job – something that she greatly lacked at the moment. From where he was, Squall did not budge as he waited for her to give up.

Hanging off the doorknob, she turned her head and whined piteously at him. "_Squa-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-all!_"

"I said _no_," he repeated firmly. "It's freezing outside, and we'll both be in trouble if you catch a cold."

At last, she let go and dropped back to the floor. She whimpered again, alternating dejected glances between him and the door that kept her imprisoned yet safe. He heard a soft sniffle, and he finally looked up, truly noticing her for the first time since he first locked them both in this room. She had her back turned to him in childish anger, but that telltale sniffling went on as she stayed there, huddled by the door.

And that was when he finally got to his feet and came to her. Reaching over her head, he pushed the right button. With a fateful "click", he turned the knob and gave the wooden barrier a gentle shove. It swung open with a low creaking, gaining the younger child's attention at once. One second, she was just staring in wide-eyed wonder down the hallway that promised her freedom in the beautiful world beyond the walls and windows and doors.

Then the next, her little arms wrapped around him in a fierce hug. Yet another second more, and she was gone before he could blink. He checked the window, and sure enough she was out there, going so fast that her feet barely touched the ground.

That girl – that free-spirited little girl – would never be satisfied with just running; she wanted to fly, as high and proud as a mighty eagle.

And as much as he hated to draw his protective hands back and let her free from his grasp, he hated even more to watch her cry.

"Are you happy now?" he asked later that night, after he finally caught her and dragged her shivering body into the warmth of her bed. "Cos' I know you won't be tomorrow, when you're sick and everything gets achy."

She only smiled at him in that cheeky way she always did, before burying her nose under her blanket. Tucking her in, he at last stroked her hair back and planted a kiss on her forehead.

"Goodnight, Yuffie."

As he drew back, she was suddenly hugging him again, and then she turned her head and kissed him back, leaving a cold wet spot on his cheek.

"G'night, Squall," she whispered, her words muffled by the blanket she had ducked under again. He sat there, not fully recovered from what had just transpired; when he finally was, he could only smile and get up to go. By the open bedroom door, he smiled at her one more time.

"See you in the morning," he promised, but she was already asleep.

* * *

Tragedies had their way of changing people: it forced children to become adults too soon, so that they might find the resolve to become stronger and prevent history from repeating itself. When the call came for them, he had remained bitter, but begrudgingly took hold of it while keeping it at arm's length. She had embraced it at once, determined to become the strongest, the fastest, and the greatest ever.

"You're not coming with me."

"But Squall-!"

"That's _Leon_," he corrected at once, irritated that she refused to just let it go. "And you're staying here. It's dangerous outside."

"I'm not five anymore!" she retorted, her hand still holding the stick she had found in the street. "I can fight too! I can fight with you!"

"You don't even have a real weapon," he pointed out. "And you can't even cast 'Cure' yet. You're not coming, and that's final."

"_You're nothing but a big bully!_"

In a flash, she had gone from the front door to the roof of their new home in Traverse Town. He looked up, and all he saw was her back turned to him. With a tired sigh, he easily cleared the ground as well to come beside her – he had been the one to teach her Jump, after all.

"I'm just trying to protect you," he tried to explain, to mend what he could. "I know I'm not your brother or anything-"

"_Then stop pretending to be!_"

Time would have them both regret this moment, to know that things could have gone better in too many ways to count. But there and then, neither could stop things from taking their course; once those words were said, nothing could make them just disappear back into non-existence.

He left her alone on the roof after that, going by himself to investigate the town for Heartless. She did not stop him, as she continued to sulk on the roof; she would not come down for hours, and when she finally did, she refused to speak to him when he returned covered in blood and bruises.

Neither apologized; neither wanted to be the first to break.

After a week of mutual silence, he left on her dresser the weapon he had carefully picked out from the newly opened shop just a few blocks away. Under it, he left the note: "_Training after breakfast. Mind your fingers on the sharp edges._"

He wondered if giving in this time was the right thing to do, but when she came down with the black ninja star snug in one hand, he decided it would have to do. And that next time he went on patrol, she went with him.

He could not protect her forever, but he could take pride in knowing he taught her to protect herself.

* * *

The years went by quickly, as they all fought to stay together and keep one another alive. When the boy with his keyblade came to their place of refuge, they helped him, so that he in turn could help them. And so he did, reclaiming for them their once-lost home world of Hollow Bastion. But that was as far as he could go – he disappeared once again, and they returned to what they had always known: fighting for the greater good.

"_Help! Someone help me!_"

"Man… Wave after wave…" he heard her mutter. There was that familiar whirling that he knew was her star – she had come to be so skilled in it, to become so trustworthy an ally. And as he heard her call for the civilian to get down amidst a loud burst of wind, he knew that she had saved the day without gaining so much as a scratch.

"There we go. Piece of cake! All clear over here, Leon!" she called merrily, her tone as playful as ever.

"Wonderful," he muttered. "Then how about helping me out over here?"

Her head popped up over the ledge, as she finally realized his predicament; with a careless "Whoops", she was up and into the fray with him. All it took after that was a brief second before the previously overwhelming wave of Heartless disappeared with a few decisive strikes of sharp metal.

"Just doing our job," she called jovially to the thankful crowd they had just rescued. "You'll be receiving the bill for our services-!"

"_Behave_," he admonished sharply with a firm clout to her head in reprimand.

At last, with things settling down once more – for the moment, anyway – they stood together and looked out over the home that they were fighting so hard to protect.

"Looks like we're heroes now, huh?" she commented. "If only we could achieve peace. People could live without fear, and we wouldn't need our weapons."

_Just like when we were young._

Peace was still such a long way off – they both knew that. Neither wanted to be the one to say it and spoil the mood. Instead, it was she who changed the topic yet again.

"Say Leon – we're getting a lot of people coming in to live here again. Say some nice boy decides to woo me… what would you do about it?"

He scoffed. "What would you want me to do about it?"

"Oh, I don't know… Just out of curiosity, would you ever try to control who I get to date?"

"I never thought about it."

Her face fell at the bluntness of his reply. "…you didn't, huh?"

"I don't have to," he answered simply. "There's no boy in all the worlds that will be good enough."

The silence lasted only two and a half seconds before she laughed and jumped on him.

"I _knew_ it!" she declared triumphantly. "You _do_ care!"

"Get off me," he muttered in a tone that was deceptively irritable. She did not, and he did not expect her to.

* * *

On the first night since the celebrations of the return of Radiant Garden – no longer Hollow Bastion – she found him far, far away from the festivities.

He had picked a spot he knew no other would go to – a childhood place of sanctuary that she had known about but was forbidden entry to as a little kid. Now, there was nothing stopping her from scaling the cliffs with ease.

He was lying on his side, his breaths deep and relaxed, his fingers twitching as his gunblade lay but a few inches from their grasp. As she watched him sleep, she wondered what good dreams he was finally having, now that he was at long last allowed to stop fighting and just rest.

"Hey, Squall!" she hissed. When he gave no answer, her confidence doubled, and she was grinning as she closed the distance between them.

Squatting beside him, she took a good long look at him, at how the time and troubles had aged the boy she had grown up beside. Her fingers found and played with a few strands of hair that framed his face, and she admired the peaceful expression he wore, wondering when she'd ever get to see such openness on his face like this a second time. Taking a deep breath, she came to a decision, and leaned down, her warm exhalation brushing against his ear.

"Thanks for everything," she whispered, as though sharing with him a secret – a special secret just for the two of them. "I love you."

He did not stir, and his breathing remained unchanged; not a muscle so much as twitched in response. But there, in that faint curl of his lips in the fleeting shadow of a smile, she knew that he had heard her.


End file.
